


my own secret ceremonials.

by ameliorates



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, basically i just wanted to write a fic where poe has a huge hard on for the other two i mean what, poe dameron actual horny teenager
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5619475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliorates/pseuds/ameliorates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the mathematics are simple. the reality is a hot, sticky delirium. -- poe struggles with frustrated longing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my notes are literally just: 'i'm sorry.' i really wanted to write horny poe i'll go sit on the shame step now. 
> 
> also luke is rey's dad and i will fight you on this, hence the v subtle mention.

Recently, Poe has found himself having to frequently swallow back his desire, pinch at the bridge of his nose, and offer weak smiles whenever he is in their presence.  

 

Rey’s insistence that all food is finger food is the start of it: he watches as her mouth wraps around each digit in turn, sucking it clean of every last morsel. Her eyelids press together and the corners of her lips flick upwards with every few bites -- each time, no matter the meal, no matter the flavours, her face glows as she savours it. Poe notices the way her fingers tug at the corner of her mouth as she wipes it clean, notices the scrape of her teeth, the dart of her tongue, has to avert his gaze and gulp his own meal down quickly. 

 

Finn is no better -- he asks Poe nervously, fingers fidgeting and eyes downcast, where he ought to sleep now that he’s recovered. _ I just thought, well, we’re friends, right? It’d be nice to bunk with a friend and Rey probably wants her privacy and, well, you might want privacy too, I --  _ and Poe, foolishly, had shushed him by clamping his hand to his shoulder, by saying  _ Of course, Buddy,  _ giddy and flushed and unaware that he was sinking deeper by the second.

 

He hadn’t bargained for the bare skin of Finn’s abdomen, on show every time he hikes up his standard issue jumper and pulls it off before bed. Poe’s eyes trace along the taut muscles surging under Finn’s skin as he moves, half naked now, across their shared room, imagines his hands palming along the ridges of his chest, consider the weight of Finn’s thighs in his lap, the rake of Finn’s fingers through his hair. 

 

_ Fuck, _ he thinks to himself in the dark of the night, the glint from the window barely illuminating the sleeping figure in the opposite bed. 

 

_ Fuck. _

 

-

 

It isn’t in his nature to be like this -- despite the whispered rumours, there is nothing inherently sexual about Poe Dameron. His voice is honeyed and low, he takes pleasure in learning the exact spot to kiss that will make his lover melt under him, flirts with his whole body, and yet has never considered sex outside the realms of some form of romantic attachment, and has never felt his palms gather sweat or his heart pulse against his ribs quite so much as in the presence of Finn and Rey. 

 

The mathematics are simple, really: a dry spell counted in months, a sudden surge of free time in the lull of momentary peace, and two bright young things, craving platonic touches, taking delight in the nuances of friendship and closeness. 

 

The reality is a hot, sticky delirium -- a bitten lip during every second conversation, a voyeuristic guilt settling into his chest every time he catches himself staring. 

 

Naturally, they are oblivious. Naturally, that makes it worse. His interest in them spans far beyond his giddy lust, of course: he delights in their fascination with the most mundane details of life on base, feels his heart swell each time the word  _ friend _ is passed between them, takes immense care of them and around them -- cautious that they are not from this world, that they are both impressively strong and incredibly fragile and that he has no right to pry into the experiences that have forged them into the people he’s grown to care for. 

 

If anything, his desire is the only ruinous part of it all; it is something he wishes he could shut off, something destined to remain unreciprocated, destined to ruin the purity of it all. 

 

-

 

_ Poe, you’ll come and see me this evening, won’t you?  _ she asks, voice alight with hope. 

 

Rey trains daily, often in a secluded area of the base’s facilities, occasionally in the depths of the forestry, rarely -- but sometimes -- in the view of the other resistance fighters. 

 

From what Poe has gathered of Luke Skywalker, his approach to Jedi training is a little less restrictive than tradition. He believes in the sanctity of it all, yet was raised a generation apart from the days of the temple and the council, has seen what the rigidity of Jedi practices had forced his father into, forced Kylo into, and was not prepared to let Rey suffer under an outdated and claustrophobic legacy. For that reason, he permits the infrequent but popular public training sessions, allowing the whole of the resistance to revel in her talent. 

 

And so Poe watches, Finn at his side. The fizz and slash of the lightsabers is hypnotic, jarringly loud, and nothing special in comparison to the breathless fluidity of her movements, feet locked in a dance, arms twisting impossibly fast to match her father’s movements. 

 

They pause to allow her to remove her top layer of clothing, revealing sun browned arms and a slight hint of hipbone. After that, Poe’s concentration on the duel is scattered, his thoughts of techniques and tactics interrupted by the image of his lips on the jut of her hip. 

 

It’s almost the worst incident of the day -- almost. 

 

But then, later, when she’s gushing about her exploits at mess  _ (Did you it see when I blocked him from behind? I wasn’t even looking!) _ she pauses to take a scoop of pudding onto her finger and gestures to Finn --  _ here, try this _ \-- and he mirrors her finger food technique, sucking on her outstretched hand, lapping up the dessert. 

 

Poe half chokes on his food, spits out a hasty apology and makes a sharp exit, leaving them wide-eyed and confused. 

 

-

 

Their exchange is what finally tips him over the edge. 

 

He reaches down to his cock in the shower that evening, letting the water sputter over his upper back, exhaling in pleasure as his hand moves up and down his shaft, feeling release in each stroke. 

 

Amongst the heat and wetness and his own hardness under the callouses of his palms it’s almost enough to imagine Finn’s mouth there, gently pumping, taking time to kiss at his head and lick up the his length, leaving hungry little saliva strings in his wake. 

 

Poe thinks of Rey’s hands in Finn’s hair, reaching down to caress at his scalp, to coax him onto Poe’s body -- her small breasts pillowed against his chest as she holds to his body for stability, nipples grazing his ribcage, mouth on his, her sloppy kisses there punctuated only by the soft bites he leans down to place at the nape of her neck, enjoying the faint blush of pink forming. 

 

In Poe’s mind, Finn increases his pace, hesitantly at first --  _ he hasn’t done this before _ \-- but a little more confidently as Poe smiles down at him reassuringly. Rey’s fingertips stroke the line of Finn’s jaw, work their way through his scalp, provide a constant, grounding reminder of his safety with them. Poe would offer her the same: refuse to leave any permanent marks, instead trailing teasing movements along the expanse of her stomach, rolling her nipple gently between his lips, letting his hand dance between the tops of her thighs, placing light strokes at the tender spot where her legs and pelvis meet. He pauses to moan against her breast as the hotness of Finn’s mouth swells in his belly, an aching tension mounting there. 

 

Poe’s hand slips deeper towards Rey, his fingertips eliciting soft, low gasps from her as he skims circles around her clit, gradually increasing the pressure. Her body slides up the shower wall, hand still loosely connected to Finn, him now grounding  _ her, _ and her hair, loose and slick and dark from the water, is splayed in wild, curling patterns. Rey’s eyes flick open, meet Poe’s gaze, and lock there, staring intently into his dilated pupils as he slips a finger inside of her. 

 

Finn reaches to interlock his hand with Rey, palms flat against each other and fingers twisted, and places his other hand on Poe’s hip, tracing thumb strokes along the lines leading to his crotch -- and fuck,  _ fuck  _ \-- the thought of Finn’s mouth on his cock and his hand there and --  _ fuck. _

 

Poe comes into his own hand, knees bucking, palm flat against the shower wall. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was not what i promised and i have negative regrets.

Poe tells himself, with an unsteady confidence and a shaky half-smile, that it’s done with now. He clenches and unclenches his fists, soaps at his skin twice over, and lets the scorch of the water purge him. He tells himself he won’t dwell on it again -- heady and potent and cathartic -- and mostly, he doesn't. 

 

(Except when he does and they’re there again, hot little mouths working their way across the whole of him.)

 

Poe tells them, the next day when they ask after him, faces crumpled with concern, that he had just eaten something bad. Seemingly satisfied with his explanation Finn pats his shoulder, Rey nods her head kindly, and they launch back into their chatter, catching Poe up on everything they had discussed in his absence. 

 

He looks between them, his stomach sinking, conviction rattling in his chest, and for a brief moments thinks:  _ fuck, I can’t do this. _ It’s easy in theory, easy when he’s just got off on the thought of fucking them both against the shower wall, when -- Poe gulps, not wanting that image to flood his mind when they’re so near to him. He steels himself, reminds himself that he isn't some horny fifteen year old, that he can want them in far less torturous ways. That he  _ has _ them, as friends, and that their friendship is far more satisfying than an unceremonious shower wank and a few haphazard and heavy daydreams. 

 

And so Poe sucks in his breath, fixes a smile on his face, and asks them both if they’d like to learn how to pilot an X-Wing. 

 

-

 

(His hands on top of hers, her sliding the controls upwards at his instruction, Finn’s palm pressed against the small of his back as he leans towards them both, her eyes gazing up into Finn’s, chin dipping downwards as she fixes her attention once more. His mouth, at the nape of her neck --  _ just there… yes, right there, Rey _ \-- as he tells her which switch to flick, the heat of her breath as she exhales into the air in front of him. Finn’s eyes on the pale, thin skin of her wrist as she reaches across him, the flushed apology he gives for getting in her way, the smile he shines up at Poe with. It’s  _ agony, agony, agony, _ crushing over him, and all he can do is drown in it.)

 

-

 

Days later, Rey is strewn across both their laps, calves kicked over the bed, her lap on Poe’s, her head lying atop Finn’s stomach. Conversation drifts between them, sleepy and careless and soothing, the lyricism of their voices a lullaby to one another. When Rey speaks Poe thinks it’s like the words coarse through her whole body, an electric current sparking energy towards them, so thrilled that she is finally being heard. Finn’s body is more controlled, stringent, even --  _ brainwashing will do that to a guy, _ Poe thinks, and immediately winces -- but the touch seems to loosen him, and the proximity in moments like this helps him normalise the concept of relaxation. His hands spin out from his body when he tells stories, miming actions and reaching out to Rey and Poe to squeeze the tops of their arms when he reaches the crux of the excitement, drawing them in using all he can. He hasn't quite realised that he doesn't need to try for Poe to be interested in what he has to say. 

 

They catch the universe in the palms of their hands in moments like this, selfish and solitary and stolen, enjoyed only by their little slipshod trio. Each and every time they find themselves like this, Poe finds himself wondering exactly what he did to deserve the luxury of knowing them. 

 

Finn quietens to let Rey speak and she talks of home. Or, her concept of it, at least. She tells them of heat, and of hunger, and of hope, and with each word Poe’s fists scrunch the sheets beneath them, frustrated with the unfairness she had been subjected to, wanting to punch Luke Skywalker clean in the jaw for leaving her there. Finn laces his fingers between hers, brushing his lips against each knuckle, and she sighs into his hand, the corners of her lips curling into a soft smile for him. He talks then, reminding her of brighter things. It isn't the most eloquent of speeches and he’s rambling on for a whole minute about her powers and her destiny and how she’ll make the universe her own. And then he stops, pauses. And then he says it --  _ Or, y’know, if that’s scary you could just be Rey. Our Rey.  _ \-- and the way he says it,  _ our Rey, _ makes Poe’s stomach lurch. Finn kisses her knuckles again, murmuring  _ our Rey  _ into each one, letting his lips linger a little longer, and Poe half wonders if he hasn't slipped asleep, feels somewhat as if he’s intruding on an intimate moment just meant for them. But then Finn says  _ our _ , again, and his eyes catch Poe’s and hold them there and --

 

Rey stiffens and her body jerks upwards and away, her movements rigid and reactionary, a visible gulp swelling at the base of her throat. Poe’s eyes catch hers, his expression quizzical, before she snaps her gaze downwards. 

 

The moment sits between them for three whole seconds -- confusion and tension intermingling in the air, a sense of wrongness, of doing something they shouldn't settling in, before Poe’s awareness reaches beyond the two figures on his bed and he becomes conscious of the tightness of his trousers, the clammy sheen dowsing his neck, and of Finn’s eyes, not quite as polite as Rey’s, staring pointedly at his now bulging crotch. 

 

_ Oh. Fuck. Oh fuck.  _

 

Finn’s actions spin into sharp contrast to his -- his every move permeated with softness and care, touches delicate, kisses innocent, each movement cautious and respectful -- and Poe, next to him, feels downright sleazy with a harsh, rough longing for them. His cheeks aflame with embarrassment, he sits up, raises his knees slightly in a poor attempt to hide his arousal, and begins to sputter an apology. He starts with their names,  _ Finn, Rey, _ and that’s a mistake because just uttering them aloud brings him right back to the image of him panting them slowly into their skin, causes him to want to burst with sheer joy over the thought that Finn had gladly accepted the name he had offered him, that Rey was happy to discard a legacy to be just Rey and their Rey, at that. He utters their names and he thinks that he would like to be theirs, too, if they would have him, but then discards that thought quickly and kneads at his forehead with his knuckles. 

 

_ Shit, I'm sorry. I should leave, I --  _ and he looks up at them and his breath halts in his chest and he finds both their expressions softened, Rey’s initial surprise displaced by a small, kind flick of her lips, Finn’s eyes on him, grin stretched across his face. 

 

He looks up at them to and his breath halts in his chest and he finds he doesn't want to leave. 

 

Finn’s mouth crashes into his, full of hunger and heat, and his tongue skims Poe’s lower lip and his hand goes to Poe’s jaw and he pulls back, panting and proud. And Rey bites at her lip, pupils wide, one brow cocked, and says  _ you are allowed to want us, you know that, right? _

 

They kiss like they talk, taking turns, letting the energy lull and rise between them, fingers grazing over exposed skin, hands telling just as many stories as their mouths, exploring, clutching. Their kisses are chaste, with flicks of tongue, punctuated by heavy exhales and murmurs of laughter, hummed into each other's lips. They kiss and it’s sweetness and dizziness and it’s Rey’s hands, placed on his chest to steady herself, it’s one of Finn’s palms on his bedsheets and the other on the back of Poe’s neck, hand slick with the warmth there, curling into the loose tendrils of Poe’s hair. Occasionally one of them will be met with the flash of an open mouth, the dance of two tongues meeting, but for the most part, they are simply caught in a tangle of curious yet inexperienced mouths. It’s exhilarating, but it’s tame. It’s more than he deserves, and yet when Poe glances down, he is still very much hard, the ache of their kisses worsening things, if anything. 

 

Finn’s eyes, already latched onto his, follow his gaze downwards, and his brow furrows with an expression Poe can’t quite place. Rey falls back a little, stops kissing when Finn stops responding, and pauses alongside him. 

 

Neither of them are stupid, neither of them ignorant of these types of things, but neither of them experienced beyond their own bodies, and even that was a relatively new territory for both of them, and adding the complexity of two new bodies to the mix -- Finn sighs, quite unsure how to fix this problem. 

 

Poe senses the discomfort --  _ I, uh, I can just leave and, uh. Take care of things.  _ \-- and Finn shushes him, partly because he doesn't want him to leave, but mostly because, as Poe quickly realises, that if that were the case Finn ought to leave to take care of things too. They lock eyes, both acutely aware of their bodies in relation to one another, saliva gathering in Poe’s mouth, the pace of Finn’s breathing audibly increased. 

 

A low, drawn out gasp breaks the silence between them, and both of them snap to look over at Rey, kneeling in Poe’s sheets, mouth half open, hand curled between the tops of her thighs. 

 

_Or we could just take care of things right here?_   Rey's words are woozy with excitement, saturated both in giddy trepidation of what she's doing, and in delight of solving their problem of her and Finn's inexperience. 

 

Her wrist flicks in rhythmic, steady motions, slow pumps and drawn out spirals, her hips unconsciously mirroring her hand, leaning gently into herself. The harsh, electric yellow glow of the ceiling light looks soft when it’s illuminating her face, lighting up the few beads of sweat gathering, painting her look of pleasure golden. Her right hand continues working deftly, while her left slides up the material covering her stomach and her fingertips stretch out across the skin there, caressing the plains of her body, moving up towards her breasts where she lets her thumb graze over her hardened nipple. Rey’s gaze flits from Poe to Finn, both enraptured by her movements, and when the silence is broken by something other than her breathing, it’s Rey, laughing breathlessly --  _ Come on, then. You both started it.  _

 

When Poe’s hand finally wraps around his cock he lets out the deepest exhale of his life. 

 

Next to him, Finn scrambles to find release, and mirrors his sigh when he takes his own cock in his hand. Poe’s eyes catch themselves staring, his lips curving into a hungry smile, the pace of his hand increasing as he looks on. They’re close enough that he can trail sloppy kisses across Finn’s collarbone, breathe out hot gasps at the base of his jaw, press his lips behind Finn’s ear, and take immense pleasure in watching the speed of Finn’s pumps accelerate with each small movement. 

 

Rey takes herself closer and places her free hand under Poe’s chin, guiding his mouth to hers, kissing him with her whole mouth, letting her tongue dip into his, and toy in hot, wet circles, shuddering at the slight scrape of his teeth at her lower lip. 

 

Finn moans loudly watching them, his muscles tense with arousal. 

 

Poe thrusts his hips into each of his pumps, not needing the image of Finn’s lips around his cock to push him towards coming because he’s right there -- half naked, cock in hand, sweat glistening, lips pressed against Poe’s jawline, against the corner of Poe’s mouth, against Poe’s lips, and like Rey’s kiss, he makes no attempt at masking his hunger. Finn’s moan vibrates against Poe’s mouth and he nearly comes on the spot. 

 

Rey wrestles with her trousers, lowering them to gain a better angle, revealing the smooth curve of the hipbones that had lingered in Poe’s mind for an obscene amount of time. 

 

They watch each other as they come. 

 

Finn is first, his face creased with pleasure, uttering his first ever swear word for them and spilling messily all over Poe’s bedsheets. Rey next, her eyes locked on both of them, her mouth upturned in pure, glowing pleasure, spine arching, her body overflowing with small whimpers. Finn, still weak in the knees and light in the head, presses lazy, warm kisses to her mouth and when she finally comes, she gasps into him, her head collapsing into his shoulder. 

 

Poe watches as them: illuminated by light, drenched in their own sweat, sticky with sex. They are his and he is theirs and when he comes it is  _ bliss, bliss, bliss, _ crushing over him, and all he can do is drown in it.


End file.
